S. Bodeen: The Compound

She held up four fingers as I jogged after the ball. “Four years, Eli. Four years you didn’t even look at me.”

There was a good reason for that. She reminded me too much of Eddy, the way he was kind to everyone, same as my mom. Part of me hated Terese for being so good, for being the one everyone adored.

It made me miss him more.

Despite the fact that I tended to treat Terese badly, she kept coming back for more. Maybe because I was as close as she was ever going to get to Eddy. Even so, I knew where she was coming from, missing Eddy like she did. I was sure she’d rather have him instead of me. Eddy was the kind of older brother anyone would want. He had always been the kind of brother I wanted. For nine years, he’d been the kind of brother I had. But I had screwed that up in a big way.

I chucked the ball at my sister, hard, smacking her on the butt.

“Ow!” She scowled.

I laughed.

“You’re so mean.” Her accent wavered when she got ticked off. She grabbed her ratty old Pooh from his spot by the door and left.

Alone at last.

But as I shot my free throws, I couldn’t stop thinking about what my sister had said. Stupid kid could make up stories. It was definitely a coping mechanism. But my gut was wrenched. Was it the mention of Eddy? Or the fact that someone besides me admitted they thought about him on a regular basis? Even though it was just Little Miss Perfect, someone besides me believed maybe he was out there somewhere. Alive. I tried so hard not to think of him. Not to believe he might have survived.

People often talk about uncanny connections between identical twins. About twins raised separately who end up innately similar. That wasn’t the case with Eddy and me, as we were always together, everything in our environment the same. We took our first steps the same day. Lost our first baby teeth within hours of each other. Both grew two inches in the same summer.

And we had our roles.

He was the leader. I let him lead, because I liked to follow. Followers were rarely accountable for their actions. In addition to leading, Eddy was also my protector. Always had been.

We were eight years old the last summer we stayed with Gram in Hawaii. One afternoon, we picnicked by a waterfall. Eddy and I lived in board shorts and rash guards that summer. Gram, smelling of White Shoulders, wore a red muumuu, her long hair loose, a pink pua flower behind one ear. She spread a dolphin print beach towel on the grass before laying out an appetizing buffet of Spam and rice, leftover kalua pork, Eddy’s daily ration of Jack Link’s beef jerky, which he couldn’t live without, fresh mangoes, and guava juice. For dessert a small cooler held my favorite strawberry mochi ice cream balls.

We finished lunch. Eddy and I took a Frisbee and went off by ourselves. I followed Eddy up a steep hill and tossed the disk to him. The breeze from the falls pushed it back my way. I grabbed for it and missed, reaching so far that I lost my balance. As I tumbled down the hill, my back slammed into a tree. It stopped my downward progress, knocking away my breath. Arms waving, legs kicking, I struggled for air.

Eddy stood at the top of the hill. Over the rushing water he called to me, “Eli! Stop. Stop moving.”

Minutes passed. My breath came back. I moved to get back up on my feet.

Again, Eddy called to me, “Eli, don’t move. I’m coming.”

Like a crab, he inched his way down the hill. As he came closer, his eyes narrowed at something past me. I twisted my head in order to see what he saw. The tree that had taken my breath was the only thing between me and the long, fatal drop to the rocks beneath the falls. I reached out for my brother.

Eddy pressed both his palms into my chest to calm me. “Eli, I got you, I got you.” He gripped my arm and we crawled up the hill together.

At the top, relieved, I rolled over onto my back, panting. “Don’t tell Gram.”

Eddy was also winded. “Duh.”

BEING IN THE COMPOUND WITHOUT EDDY SEEMED TO GET harder every day. We didn’t talk about him much. Dad had said early on that this was our life and we should move on, not keep thinking about the way things used to be. After talking to Terese that morning in the gym, remembering Eddy, all I wanted was to talk to him and pretend he could hear me. I tried to imagine our lives as they might have been. Sort of a What Would Eddy Do?

If things were normal and we were in the old world, going to high school, Eddy would probably have a million girlfriends. He’d had all the friends in grade school and I knew I was in the mix only because of him; high school wouldn’t have been much different. I’d be getting dragged out on double dates with his girlfriends’ friends. Knowing Eddy, he would probably insist on it.

Sometimes my thoughts took a different direction: What Would Eddy Do If Eddy Were Here?

I hit my fiftieth free throw.

Despite knowing he and Gram had perished on the outside that night six years before, I never truly felt our connection break. There was emptiness, of course. Along with a huge feeling of loss. But that feeling of connection only a twin could understand? That I still had.

Lining up my next shot, I started to release the ball.

“That’s off.”

The voice startled me even as I tried not to show it, although my lousy shot was proof enough.

Dad walked out of the shadows underneath the basket as my air ball went past him. He let it bounce off the wall before catching it, then tossed the ball from one hand to the other. “You and Terese have a nice game?”

“Huh?” That caught me off guard. Had he heard our conversation? “Um, yeah. Her game needs work, though.”

Dad chuckled a bit, then tossed me the ball. “She has a grand imagination, that one.”

I nodded, unsure what to say.

Walking toward the door, away from me, he paused but didn’t turn around. “I’m sure you can set her straight.”

“Set her straight?”

“Basketball.” One hand raised in the air, the wrist flipped a bit. “Her game.” And he left.

Although he didn’t come out and say it, I sensed he had heard me and Terese. And after the exchange with my sister that morning in the gym, I wondered what Eddy would do if he were in the Compound instead of me. Despite believing I was dead, would he trust that feeling of connection and still hold out hope for a miracle?

Through 250 more free throws, of which I made 227, I already knew the answer. If there were even the slightest chance the world was not as it seemed, a tiny slice of hope that his twin might still be alive, he would find out. Or else die trying.

I WALKED INTO THE KITCHEN FOR DINNER, NOT EXPECTING to be greeted with rainbow-colored balloons and streamers. My family sat on the red leather banquettes in the breakfast nook, all eyes on me. Mom and Dad were on opposite sides, of course. As far away as they could get from each other while still putting on the illusion of a happy family.

Lexie was in her usual place, right at Dad’s side. Maybe she thought she had a shot at becoming queen of the Compound. Her dark braid contrasted with the white of her T-shirt. She fixed me with a glare, even more piercing than usual.

Terese had a big smile on her face, definitely fake.

Mom’s wasn’t. Her dark hair was piled on her head and she wore red velour. Even a touch of red lipstick. Perhaps it was due to the occasion, but for whatever reason, she stood and her arms widened to give me a hug.

“Happy Birthday, Eli.”